


International Zodiac Brotherhood

by LadySalamander



Category: Final Fantasy XII, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Balthier and Ignis are brothers, Bonding over food, Family Bonding, Final Fantasy XII crossover, Gen, Gladnis pairing but everything else is about FAMILY, Humor, I finally wrote an FF XII fic after FOURTEEN YEARS, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22919350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySalamander/pseuds/LadySalamander
Summary: Balthier returns to the city of his youth to find the brother he left behind, to seek closure and amends for the death of their father.Ignis is in for one hell of a surprise.
Relationships: Balthier & Fran (Ivalice Alliance), Balthier & Ignis Scientia, Gladiolus Amicitia & Iris Amicitia, Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 7
Kudos: 34





	1. A Day In Insomnia

**Author's Note:**

> I never really found time to mention it in the text, so: This fic is set 20 years after the events of FFXII, and 5 years after the end of FFXV. Balthier is six years older than Ignis, making Vaan and Ignis the same age.

"All right," said Fran. "Now we are here, finally. Where do we go?"

"Give me a minute," said her companion, hands on his hips. The morning air was bright, the sky blue and cloudless but still chilly, their breath forming soft, sparkling clouds. "Let me reacquaint myself, soak in the atmosphere, get my bearings."

Fran rubbed her bare arms and took in the city around them. The road was newly paved, slick black asphalt instead of the cobblestones and bricks they used back home. A car rolled by, while across the street a pair of pedestrians slowed down and tried not to stare, unsure if the viera and the moogle they saw were real. One of the buildings nearby had boarded up windows, and another of the towers peeking over the rooftops was cracked, steel supports like broken bones jutting into the sky. 

"It's quiet," said Fran. "You told me of a city to rival Arcades. I see the buildings and the streets but not the people."

"It's early still," Balthier said confidently. He sidled up to the nearest intersection, examining the names of the streets on the sign.

“Do you know where we are?”

“Mm, not a hundred percent. But I know if we follow this street long enough, we’ll get to the shopping arcade with the grocery store, and I know where to go from there.” He pointed down the street, hands in pockets, back straight, confident.

“It’s been thirty years,” said Fran. “You don’t even know if the arcade is there anymore. You don’t even know if they _live_ there anymore. We should just ask around. You even have a photo.” Balthier touched the breast of his vest unconsciously. Tucked in the pocket was a frayed photo, the only one that remained to Balthier of himself and the brother they were searching for.  
“We’ll be fine,” Balthier assured her. “He’s just a kid in the picture, no one would recognize him anyway. What about you, Prushka?” He looked to their pint sized mechanic. “Do you want to come with us, or do you want to take a look around on your own?” Prushka sniffed the cold wind, her whiskers twitching curiously. 

“Is it safe, kupo?” Prushka didn’t look particularly concerned; indeed, she’d talked about nothing but seeing the sights of the city since they’d hit the coast of the Jagd Sea.

“There’s no laws against a moogle in Insomnia,” Baltheir replied, “though I highly doubt most people here have seen one before so you might get more than a lot of stares.”

“How about you meet us back here at teatime,” Fran suggested. “If things do not go well, you have the keys to the _Strahl.”_

“Alright kupo! I hope you find your brother!” Prushka took off; tiny, industrious, and up for adventure.

“You really think she’s going to be alright?” asked Fran.

“She’ll be fine,” said Balthier, setting off down the street. Fran followed him, noting as another set of eyes followed her down the street. No, they definitely weren’t breaking any rules, but she was certain they were bound to cause a stir nonetheless.

~0~

Word reached Ignis’ ears only a couple hours after getting to work, just into his second cup of coffee, but early enough that he wasn't thinking about lunch.

“A viera?” he repeated.

“Unless there’s a cosplay convention or something,” said his aide, Chloe. “But like, who has time for that these days? My sister said she saw her on the way to work.”

“Well, nothing wrong with a viera in town,” said Ignis. “Highly unusual though…” he trailed off, obviously distracted by a thought.

“What’s up?” asked the aide. Chloe was the young and hopeful type, smart but with an unfortunate habit of being blunt. Talcott always rolled his eyes around her and told her to _"Treat her elders with respect"_ even though they were around the same age. She was also an incorrigible gossip. Talcott often grumbled, wondering how the Ignis he knew could stand it, but the woman could suss out information like a pro, often without even being aware of the importance of the information she held. And Ignis craved that information. He loved hearing how the city and its people were getting on, building something new. It also made him extremely good at his job. They said there was no news in the citadel that didn't make it to the keen ears of Ignis Scientia, the blind man who saw it all. They just never really stopped to think about how. Ignis was trying to help her be aware of it, he really was. It would suit her well in her career, she just had to realize it for herself.

“Nothing,” Ignis replied. "What do you think it means?" His aide shrugged, realized he couldn't see her, then let out a prolonged "Uuuh…" filling the silence while she thought. 

"I mean, I guess that would depend on where she's from, right? Could be there are still viera around here. Or someone made it across the Jagd Sea," she scoffed. "That would be crazy, can you like, imagine?"

"I can indeed."

"Everyone'll be talking about it, though. And making up stories about it. I guess we’ll just have to see what happens.”

~0~

Fran and Balthier stood before a row of battered, mostly boarded up townhomes near the center of the city. The particular house in front of them had wood for windows and leaves in the gutters; it didn’t look like it had been lived in in years.

“I told you,” said Fran.

“I don’t get it,” said Balthier. “This is the posh part of town. People _move_ , yes, but they don’t abandon their real estate. Not with that kind of cash on the line.”

A creak and a clack announced the arrival of a neighbour, dressed in a black uniform and bracing themselves against the morning chill.

"Oh!" cried Balthier, "Good sir, if you have a moment!"

The young man did a double take, startled by the sight of a man in strange garb and a full fledged viera standing next to his doorstep so early in the morning.

"Yeah?" He replied eloquently.

"Do you happen to know of the folks who used to live here?" The young man's eyes flicked to the boarded up house next door.

"How long ago?" He asked. "You mean, before the Night?"

"Most likely," Balthier replied. The young man in uniform shook his head.

"No idea. No one lived here during the Night; I only moved in a couple months ago."

"And before you?"

"Nobody."

"Nobody?"

"Where are you from?"

"Assume I am from very, very far away."

The young man squinted suspiciously, but he answered anyway.

"I said, no one lived here during the Night. Or anywhere in Insomnia after it was attacked by the Niffs."

There was a brief moment of silence.

"Ah," replied Balthier. "I was unaware, thank you." He bowed superfluously and turned on his heel. 

The young man in uniform continued to eye them with suspicion.

"Where did you say you were from?"

"Like I said, far away," said Balthier, waving without looking back. Fran made a point of rolling her eyes before following. 

"You could have just asked the boy about your brother."

"It's a big city, Fran. I doubt he's ever even heard his name. Come on, there has to be a records office somewhere, hopefully it hasn't burned to the ground or befallen some other horrid fate.” A chill breeze tickled their noses; despite the sun's steady rise the air was still cold. Fran sneezed. Balthier pretended not to notice.

“And perhaps we should find somewhere to purchase a coat?" He suggested. "It’s a tad bit nippy here, compared to home.”

~0~

They found a shop selling coats easily enough. Public records were a bit harder, but it was not as if there were signs on every street corner that said, “This way to the hall of records!” There were all sorts of signs - scorched old signs that pointed to the citadel, new signs that pointed to the market, hand painted signs declaring everything for sale from fresh tomatoes to used radios and roofing services. It was all so mundane, but underneath it all it was if there was a layer of dust. There were the boarded up windows, cracks in the concrete, huge office towers standing abandoned and broken. But there were still people, cars, kids, the smell of food in the air, all growing in greater numbers the closer they got to the center of town. They passed a park full of skinny young trees, reaching for the blue sky amidst the grey trunks and stumps of their forefathers. 

"It is as life returns after the forest fire," Fran observed. “They suffered greatly during the Time of Dark.” Balthier pursed his lips, but said nothing.

The shop where they found the coats was the kind of place that sold all sorts of sundries, bought and scrounged, something between a hunting outfitters and a thrift store all jumbled together. Dusty radios shared the shelves with tarnished swords, fishing rods and fraying paperbacks, a many pocketed vest vied for space on the racks between a leather jacket and a women's raincoat.

“Jewels?” asked the proprietor, examining the heavy jewelry with which Balthier opted to pay. They’d taken them from some Archadian hob-nob’s sky yacht, not that anyone around here could trace them back to them.

“Real gold, real stones my friend,” Balthier replied. “Never lose their value, these things.”  
“You don’t have anything else?” asked the proprietor.

“Well,” Balthier argued, “These sorts of things, in my experience, tend to be good for cash no matter where you happen to be.”

“Not much call for jewels around here,” said the proprietor. “People need things they can use.. You have tools? Food? Fuel?”

Fran and Balthier glanced at one another. They had food and weapons back on the Strahl, anchored outside the walls of the city.

"Look," said Balthier, pulling out his most honeyed voice. "Your altruism is admirable, but there are always people out there who flaunt their wealth. And you can make the most of it, you know you can."

The proprietor frowned, uncertain but curious.

"Think about the most ostentatious person who comes in here. The one who wears the best clothes and buys the best wares."

"The one who weathered the past ten years in a private penthouse," said the proprietor.

"There you go," said Balthier. "Now think of how much they would pay to look good again. And it's not like anyone around here has these styles. You bought them off a viera, think of where we must be from."

"A very good selling point, no?" added Fran. "This is a very nice establishment, I think you know a thing or two about salesmanship."

They left the shop with two warm coats and enough change to feed themselves for the next couple of days. Balthier's coat was long and black with brass buttons. Fran's was lined with soft fur. 

"That's … rabbit fur," the proprietor had pointed out.

"I have killed many rabbits for meat and fur," said Fran. "What is it you are saying?"  
The proprietor said nothing in response to this, but they did point the pair towards the public records department at the library, though what was left they had no idea.

“I suppose,” said Fran pointedly, “we’ll just have to ask.”

~0~

Meanwhile, Prushka’s day had gone from promising to amazing to … slightly terrifying. As an airship mechanic, Prushka had been lucky enough to see a lot of the land called Ivalice, from the Archadian opera (though admittedly, she had to sit rather far back) to the jungles of Rosarria (though admittedly, she’d seen them from the air), and the beaches of the Phon Coast (which were beautiful until they were attacked by a school of piranhas). So it had been a long time, she always said to herself, since she had been someplace new. And Insomnia had it all. The way people dressed, the way they travelled in little wheeled cars, the strangeness of the buildings and the wideness of the streets, all fresh to Prushka as summer rain. The little pastries for sale and the dark, bitter drink they took with them (though maybe, she thought, she’d had a little bit much). And the people were so kind! So eager to speak with her, even though she may be a stranger from a far off land. Most of them admitted they’d never seen a moogle before, let alone spoken to one, which was understandable seeing as there weren’t any here, and most of them said she looked different than in the movies, which was not something she understood at all. She’d have to ask what a movie was next time.

So Prushka was having a fine day, finishing the last of her pastries, licking powdered sugar from her paws, when suddenly someone put a bag over her head. It was unexpected, to say the least, scary, to say a lot, and most of all, rude. So rude that Prushka was practically in shock, and had to take a moment to realize that yes this was indeed happening (the nerve) before she began to fight back.

“Fuck,” said her captor, or one of them, as a strong foot met him in the shoulder. “It’s fucking squirming something fierce-”

“Help!” cried Prushka. “Unhand me kupo! You fiends!” she wriggled in the bag, trying to pull her wrench from inside her coveralls.

“Why are we doing this?” said the man who was holding Prushka.

“Because even if its not a real moogle someone’ll still pay good money for something that looks like a real moogle-”

“And squirms like one.”

“-and who the hell is going to believe anyone when they say a mythological creature’s gone missing, huh?”

“I would,” said a female voice. “I don’t know what you have in there, but they’re crying for help so you better drop it. Now.” 

“She means put me down gently!” Prushka objected.

“You’re not even armed!” the second man - apparently the blunt mastermind of this operation, pointed out.

“Neither are you,” said the woman. There was a rustle, a quick clink of something hitting the ground. “But you mess with me, you mess with all of us. I’ve already called my unit, they’re on their way right now. Or hell, mess with me, see where it gets you.”

“Not worth it,” said the man holding the sack. He tossed - tossed! like a bag of potatoes! - Prushka at the woman, who thankfully had good reflexes and strong arms, before the pair turned tail and ran.

“Don’t worry,” said the woman, “I already called the crownsguard.” She hastily opened the bag, getting Prushka some much needed fresh air, and gasped audibly.

"You… you're … real … a real…" disbelief and delight lit up her face, as she held Prushka at arm's length to get a better look. "You're a real live moogle!" She shrieked.

Pushka sniffed. The adrenaline was beginning to wear off and she realized just how crazy the whole situation was. Crystalline tears began to form at the corners of her big eyes.

"Put me down!" She insisted again. "I was almost nearly kidnapped kupo! And now my rescuer is screaming at me! I thought the people here were nice!"

The woman's face dropped, obviously realizing what she had done. She carefully placed the tearful Prushka on the sidewalk.

“Hey,” she crooned. “Hey, I’m sorry. You’re right, you’re so right. That’s no way for any of us to be treating a visitor.” Prushka sniffed and wiped her eyes.

“What did you do to those men, kupo?” The woman picked up the object she had tossed on the ground, a metal shield backed with a pin.

“This is my badge,” she said. “It says I’m a member of the crownsguard.”

“Crownsguard, kupo? Like you guard the king?” The woman smiled.

“When there was a king, yeah. Nowadays we look after Insomnia, too. But criminals don’t like to mess with us, so I scared them off. I’m not working today, but the rest of the crownsguard are looking for them now.” The woman got down to Prushka’s level, squatting so her knees were up near her chest and extended a hand. She had chin length brown locks and sported a dark coat over a pink sweater. “I’m Iris, by the way. Iris Amicitia.” Prushka sniffed again and shook her hand.

“I’m Prushka, kupo. I’m an airship mechanic.”

Iris raised her eyebrows. “An airship mechanic huh? Where are you from?”  
“Me and my friends are from Dalmasca, kind of.”

“Dalmasca that’s … across the sea isn’t it? How … what are you doing in Insomnia?”

“My friends came to look for his brother. I came to see the city, kupo! I love to travel!" Prushka did love to travel, and she loved to talk to other people about travelling.

"Well," said Iris. "I'm free all day. How about I make it up to you and show you the  
sights? I can even get you to the best lookout in the city. All the way up there." She pointed to a tall building, four towers linked by walkways. "It's called the Citadel."

"Kupo! Really?" All of Prushka's tears had suddenly vanished, replaced with wide eyed excitement. Iris smiled.

"Mm, yep!" Prushka's eyes shone.

"It's a deal, kupo!"

~0~

"Sooo, they moved," said Balthier as they left the building that currently housed the remnants of Insomnia's municipal records. According to the attendant most of the digital files were ok, but anything more than twenty-five years old was patchy, lost to unchecked fires sometime during the long night. They got lucky, she said. 

"I think you knew that," Fran pointed out. "You said his mother died. There was no reason for his family to keep that house.” She cocked her head, looking down at Balthier. Despite his insistence on coming, this wasn't a part of his life Balthier had ever talked about in great detail.

"Do you remember your step mother?" asked Fran. Balthier shook his head. "Hardly. They weren't ever married, so it's not like she ever agreed to be my mother. She was ambitious, I think. She wanted to come back to Arcades, become a diplomat. She kept bugging my father about it. I don't think their relationship would have lasted, but she would have gotten what she wanted out of him."

"And did your father have similar designs?"

"He didn't really care, he just wanted to get close to that crystal. Her family worked for the crown, and he in turn was using her to secure a place in the palace. They were a match in wit and intellect though, that much is for sure."

"If the crystal were his only goal, surely he could have chosen more shrewdly," Fran mused. Balthier scoffed.

"If you're insinuating my father let his plans go astray because he followed his heart … well. He is my father, I guess. I'll tell you what, he never let it happen again. Not even where his own son was involved." He shoved his hands into the deep pockets of his new coat.

From what Fran had learned of Doctor Cidolfus Bunansa, he never seemed the kind of man who had his heart broken not once, but twice by the loss of love. It would make sense, she supposed, to do as humans did and retreat to a place where the pain of such things would never be felt again. But one could not flee from pain without leaving other things behind as well. Balthier scuffed the sidewalk with his boot.

"Or sons, I should say."

"What do you think it would have been like, if your brother came with you to Arcades?" Asked Fran. Balthier shrugged. 

"People say I was gifted as a child. I suppose it runs in the family. If he had his mother's ambition, he would have been a judge, easily."

"He may have stood against us," Fran realized, sadly.

"Yeah," Balthier sighed. "So maybe it was for the best, who knows. I guess the whole situation was damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. I would prefer him alive and healthy, though.” Fran thought of her sisters, secure in Eryut Village. The viera of the isthmus had weathered the Time of Dark as they had weathered all change; locked behind their magicks. Though the forest had withered without the sun, her roots were deep and strong, and ten years was not so long to her children. Fran worried, however, that it made them more wary than ever of the outside world, made them even more unwilling to venture beyond the bounds of what was in their control.

“We should ask at this Citadel, next," she said. "You mentioned that was where his family worked? And where he had friends?"

"I did," Balthier replied. "Spent a fair bit of time there myself, though I doubt anyone would remember." He didn't look particularly enthused by the prospect. "Anyway, how about a spot of lunch first?"

Fran sniffed out a cafe for them, selling meals of hearty autumn soup, and sandwiches, followed by dark, aromatic coffee. Balthier was excited about the coffee.

“I was never allowed to have it as a kid,” he explained, “and then I lost the chance to try.” They both took tentative sips, blowing on the surface to chase away the heat. Balthier was silent. Fran wrinkled her nose. They both drank their tea sweet and milky; the bitterness of the coffee was unwelcome on their pallets.

“An acquired taste, I suppose,” Balthier mused, trying to hide his disappointment.  
“Perhaps some sugar is in order,” Fran suggested. Someone sat down at the table behind Balthier, the scrape of the chair causing Fran’s ears to twitch. She looked to the source of the noise and hummed thoughtfully.

“Speaking of sugar,” she purred.

“Oh, what’s stolen your attention now?” asked Balthier, twisting in his seat. A rather handsome man with long dark hair and broad shoulders was seated behind him, trying to look like he wasn't staring. Fran flashed him a seductive smile and the man blushed, hiding himself in his sandwich. Fran pointed at him, then at herself, raising an eyebrow suggestively. Balthier glanced over his shoulder to see the man’s reaction. He pointed at Balthier and raised an eyebrow questioningly. Fran raised three fingers, and Balthier rolled his eyes. The man behind him chuckled silently, trying not to choke on his food and shook his head, showing Fran his hand. He tapped a silver ring with his thumb. Fran raised an eyebrow and held up four fingers.

“Gods above,” Balthier grumbled. “I’m not in the mood.” He twisted in his seat. "What?" He asked, knowing very well the answer. "You never seen a viera before?" Fran tsked and rolled her eyes.

"Sorry," the guy rumbled. At least he sounded genuinely embarrassed, and looked adorable doing so. "Guess it's rude to stare, huh."

"To stare and at least not introduce oneself, yes. Do not be shy; I am Fran, this is Bathier."

"Gladiolus," the man replied. Balthier frowned.

"Like-?"

"Before you say it, yeah, like the flower."

"Gladiolus," Fran hummed. "Sword-lily. A name with high hopes and much love. Do you come here often, Sword-Lily?" Gladiolus replied with a one-shouldered shrug.

“Often enough. My husband really likes this place, but he also likes working through lunch. Take it this is your first time?”

“How did you guess? It is our first time trying coffee as well.”

“Oh yeah? What did you think?”

“It needs sugar,” Fran repeated, the purr back in her voice. Balthier sighed heavily and stood, taking his coffee with him. “If you really want to play, I’ll meet you and Prushka back at the gate.” Gladiolus waved his hand, a go go motion, indicating to Fran that he was indeed declining her offer on good terms. Fran smiled anyway and followed her companion.

“You must admit, he was rather good looking,” she commented, once they were out on the street. “I’m sort of happy for him though? At least his husband.”

“Truly,” Balthier agreed. “Beautifully handsome and stunningly loyal-”

“A sort of rugged charm.” Balthier rolled his eyes.

“ - but at the current moment I have other fish to fry.”

~0~

Gladio watched the pair leave the cafe, trying to wrap his head around what just happened. That was real and she was real, he watched her ears twitch and everything. And the other guy didn’t look like a cosplayer, more like a tired hunter. Though Gladio had no idea when boots like that were ever in style, and he sure wore a hell of a lot of jewelry. He made Gladio think of the term pirate. Were they pirates? Pirates in Insomnia? He looked damned familiar, too.

Gladio’s line of thought was interrupted by his cell phone chirping, and then chirping again, and again, and again… He knew enough to know who it probably was.

 _GLADDY_ Iris’ text read.  
_THIS IS_  
_THE_  
_BEST_  
_DAY_  
_EVER_

Gladio was optimistic; he hoped Iris had met the love of her life, or found one of the family photo albums intact, or at least adopted a cat or something but instead he is sent a picture of a moogle. It was a very good picture- it could very well be real. The moogle was wearing coveralls and holding a polaroid camera, peering over the lookout at the top of the Citadel.

 _Uhh,_ he replied, _cute. Is that like, a sculpture?_ Iggy would like to hear about it, at least, if someone were doing an art installation. It would mean people were concerned with relaxing and expressing as much as they were surviving. The little signs of the return to civilization.

Gladio please, said Iris. She is REAL.

She sent him a video after that, just a few seconds. The same moogle in the same place, this time looking at the camera, nose twitching with curiosity.

_“Prushka!”_ Iris cooed, _“Say hi to my brother Gladiolus!”_

 _“Hello kupo!”_ said the moogle, waving to the camera. _“Hello Gladiolus!”_

Gladio raised an eyebrow, replaying the video again, and then one more time, looking for the telltale misaligned shake of a phone app, the off colour lighting of animation. If it was fake it was good, and Gladio wondered again if anyone had the time or resources to make a fake like that. If it was real … well. Like the viera, everyone knew they were real, even if no one in Lucis had seen one in decades, maybe centuries. It meant they - and presumably that guy with the viera - had crossed the Jagd Sea, or come the long way over the top of the world. But did it mean something, that was the question. They certainly didn’t act like they were here as diplomatic envoys, or researchers wondering about the causes of the Long Night. They were acting like tourists. Gladio chewed his sandwich, thinking. When was the last time someone had come to Insomnia from the Far Continents? Someone he knew about? Gladio had the feeling he knew, he had the feeling it had something to do with the familiarity of the man. He’d have to pass it by Ignis. Ignis would know.

~0~

Balthier stood outside the gates of the Citadel, tapping his foot thoughtfully.

“What luck,” said Fran, looking at the gatehouse. “We’ll just ask the guard to tell us where your brother is.” Balthier made a noncommittal grumbling noise.

“How do we know he even knows who he is?”

“Balthier-”

“Look at him, kid’s barely old enough to pluck his chin hairs. There’s no way he would remember something that happened so long ago. No…” he tapped his foot thoughtfully. “We’re better off to go look for clues.”

“Not ask?” Fran ventured. “On the off chance that maybe, perhaps, your brother is still here?” Baltheir’s eyes landed on a small group gathered near the gate.

“Oh look,” he said, sauntering over. He honed in on the woman heading the group, with her backpack and her badge around her neck, and presented her with his most winning smile.

“Hello dear,” he crooned. “How much for the tour?”

~0~

Fran had seen the inside of castles before; this one seemed no different. The amenities were better than most; modern comfort had not been sacrificed to maintain tradition. But it was just as boring. Walls were still walls. A cage was still a cage, no matter how high the ceiling, no matter how guilded the walls.

"Familiar?" She asked Balthier. He shook his head.

"I mostly remember … offices. Classrooms. My father was in with the ministry of sciences, it must be in another wing." Fran glanced around, then lowered her voice.

"We should split off as soon as we can. If we get caught I can play the lost foreigner."

"Mm, good plan. I wish we had a map…"

They had idly followed the group into the tallest room yet, flanked by high stairs, only half listening to the commentary of their guide.

“... if you want to leave notes or flowers,” she was saying, “you can leave them below the throne.”

Fran tuned back in to take in their surroundings. It was a throne room, she realized, draped and carpeted in back and gold, fitted in all the finery of royalty. The throne at the top of the stairs was in a state of disrepair, cracked and broken. Behind it, a tall window and the grey wall had been repaired in white stone. The stairs themselves were roped off, but between them, beneath the throne, lay what could only be described as a shrine. White flowers, cards, notes, strings of electric lights and a sign that read _Please, no candles!_ all surrounding the portrait of a solemn, dark haired man.

“Is that…?” muttered Balthier, squinting at the portrait, taking a couple steps closer.

“The fellow on the coins,” said Fran.

“It’s his son, actually,” said their guide. “King-”

“Noctis,” said Balthier. He had hazy memories of a pale, dark haired boy, always on his brother’s coattails. _Ffamran had no patience for little kids, but Ignis did. His dad would always sneak them sweets when he knew no one was looking. Even then he knew it was glad-handing. Trying to get close to the king._

“Noctis,” finished the guide. “The King of Light.” Balthier continued to look at the shrine, reconciling the face in the portrait with his past.

“Why do they call him that?” asked Fran. The guide looked a little bit shocked, as if this were something everyone should know. She obviously wasn’t used to having to explain, but she did. A few of the other visitors - well wishers? Mourners? Pilgrims? - listened in, curious to see the reaction of someone who had never heard the story before. Fran and Balthier listened with blank-faced silence.

“You know,” said Fran, “it was not only your land that went dark.” The guide opened her mouth to speak, perhaps in protest, but Fran continued.

“Many lives were lost and as yet we are the only ones who know why. It is not your fault, however. We know better than most the capriciousness of those who would call themselves gods.”

“What happened,” asked Balthier, “to these companions you spoke about?” Their guide gave a little cough.

“Ahem. They’re still around, though they prefer privacy. What I can say is that they haven’t given up. There’s still a lot of rebuilding to do.” Most of the other visitors had finally turned away, more intent on leaving their prayers and offerings to their fallen king. Fran stood by Baltheir’s side, and they lowered their voices for private conversation.

“All that time,” said Baltheir. “All those lives lost, all those years spent trying to find an answer, researchers suffocated in the bowels of ruins and ripped apart by demons. And all we had to do was sit and wait for the gods to make another of their grand sacrifices!” Bathier’s voice rose with his anger, his fists clenching at his sides. Fran nodded once, serene as ever. 

“I understand your anger, Balthier,” said Fran. “But there is no need to be harsh. Look on the bright side; your brother didn’t wander far after all. We should go find him, before we attract more of their attentions. Maybe he can enlighten us.”

Balthier nodded in assent, straightened his shoulders, made to make his exit when they were interrupted by a familiar, rhythmic sound. Fran and Balthier being seasoned pirates knew that sound well, the sound of jackboots on a mission.

"Don't panic," whispered Fran. "This is not Arcades, they know not who we are."

Two men marched into the room, clad in the black and silver coats of the palace guard. Their eyes scanned the room and landed immediately on Fran.

"That them?" Asked one to the other.

"A bearded man and a viera? Not hard to miss," said the other, inciting an immediate wave of suspicious murmurs amongst the rest of the tour.

"Know not who we are, eh?" said Balthier. "Wonder what it is we've managed now?"

"You two!" barked the first guard. "We need you to come with us.”

“Dare I ask why?” asked Balthier.

“You’re suspected of selling counterfeit goods.,” explained the second guard. “I don’t know why he barks so much. Just come quietly and I’m sure we can get everything sorted out.”

~0~

Gladio knocked on the open door, more to announce his presence then to ask permission to enter. Ignis, as usual, was chatting with his aid, she making notes while he went on over the meetings of that morning. He was leaning, cheek resting on one gloved hand; she worked with her feet up in the spare chair and laptop on her legs. Both perked up noticeably when they caught a whiff of the coffee in Gladio’s hands.

“Knock knock,” said Gladio.

“Hey Mister Amicitia!”

“Hello, love.”

“I come bearing gifts!” Gladio declared. “One skinny mocha extra shot no whip,” he said, handing Chloe her drink, “one black coffee,” he handed Ignis his, “and one roast beef sandwich on rye, because I know council ran until one o’clock.”

“My hero,” Ignis crooned, reaching for his lunch.

“Hey,” said Gladio, withholding the paper bag, “where’s my payment?” Ignis craned his neck, letting Gladio lean in and peck him on the lips.

“Payment enough?”

“For now,” Gladio teased, allowing Ignis to snatch the bag away hungrily. His aide closed her laptop.

"I'm going to go get those reports from Duscae," she said. "I'll leave you two be."

"Have you heard the rumours?" Asked Ignis as Gladio settled in her now vacant chair. "About the viera."

"Word's gotten out then? I meant to ask you about that. I met her at the coffee shop. Her name is Fran, so she claims. She was with a guy named Balthier."

"Hm," said Ignis, his mouth full of roast beef. He swallowed. "That has a familiar ring to it."

"He looked familiar. But like, I dunno, they really looked like they could be from the Far Continent, but how would I know."

"Why would you want to ask me about that?"

"Well, when was the last time anyone came here from the far continent?"

“What, you don’t remember that whole mess with my father?” asked Ignis.

“Oh shit,” groaned Gladio. “Man, that was so long ago I almost forgot, yeah. So the last person to come here from the Far Continent, or who at least claimed to be from there -”

“Was given the option to leave or hang, yes.” Gladio pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling like an idiot. 

“I’m surprised you aren’t more curious.”

“About our visitors? Don’t get me wrong Gladio, I and I am sure many others are ravenous for information about the Far Continent, for many reasons.”

“You could ask for an audience. You hold enough clout around here, people know who you are, they’d back you up.”

“And you’re captain of the Crownsguard, you could easily do the same if you wished.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to ask,” said Gladio. “On the off chance.” Ignis shook his head.

“It’s a misuse of authority. It’s rude to accost strangers, visitors no less, for mere stories. What are the chances they’ve even heard of my father or brother? He may have tried to be a politician, but he was always a scientist first. Maybe it brought him fame and fortune, but the opposite is just as likely. The world is vast, Gladio. They’ve probably never even heard his name. ” he spat out the last part, perhaps with more vehemence than he intended. Ignis sighed. “I love you, Gladio.”

“I love you too, Igs," said Gladio. He reached across the desk, taking Ignis' hand in his own. Ignis squeezed.

“Of course I want to know what happened to them, Gladio. I’m only human. Even if they made it back home, they were on the other side of the Jagd Sea. They could never even have sent so much as a letter. I’ve come to terms with this, so I’ll not waste time chasing the past when there are people here who treat me like actual family. And that’s that.”

~0~

“I’m getting kinda hungry, kupo. I told my friends I would meet them back at the gate, and then we could go find somewhere to have dinner.”

“That sounds like a plan!” Iris agreed enthusiastically. Her eyes were full of stars; she still couldn’t believe there was a real moogle in Insomnia and she was lucky enough to have rescued her and become friends! “What do your friends like to eat?” Prushka scrunched up her nose, thinking.

“Balthier likes sweet things and Fran likes spicy things. I like to try new things, kupo! This morning I tried coffee and, uh, doughnuts! I wanted to have something for dinner that they eat here in Lucis that we don’t have back home.”

Iris mulled it over, thinking.

“There’s a sort of spicy seafood paella that a lot of people around here eat. We’re pretty big on fish.”

“I don’t know what pie-ella is, but seafood sounds great kupo!” Prushka pumped her little furry fists in the air. “Where’s a good place to get it?” Iris thought about it again.

“I dunno. I always have it at my brother’s place, ‘cause honestly his husband makes it better than anywhere else I’ve had it. I'd ask him about it but, come to think of it, I was supposed to have dinner at their place tonight…Hey!" She snapped her fingers. "I know!" Prushka's eyes widened in delight when she realized where this was going. "I'm sure they'd be delighted to have you over as well. I just need to give Gladio a shout-"

Iris was interrupted by the chirrup of her cell phone, a sharp, demanding ring. Prushka cocked her head curiously.

"Work," Iris explained. "It might be about the guys who kidnapped you." She picked up the call, holding the phone to her ear. "Amicitia." Pause. "Yes the younger one you dolt!" More listening. Iris pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "Right. Got it. I'll be over soon to sort things out." She hung up.

"Your friends are a viera and a man with a beard, yeah?"

"Uh huh. Why, they get into trouble, kupo?"

"Yeah, they were arrested for selling counterfeit, but now one of the officers is going on about being wanted for espionage."

"Arrested kupo!" Pruska cried. "But they would never …" she trailed off a bit, thinking about it. "Well they're not spies!" She concluded.

"I believe you," said Iris. "So lets head back to the Citadel and get this sorted out!"

~0~

"Espionage, what the hell are you talking about, espionage?" Balthier sputtered. "You said we sold fake goods, which we did not, by the way."

"Your picture is right here, in the file!”

“I haven’t been through the gates of this city in over twenty years!”

“Bunansa, right?” the officer turned the file around so Fran and Balthier could see that he was telling the truth. Balthier recoiled from the bars, physically taken aback by the likeness between him and his father at a similar age. His hand went to his cheek, to the coarse brown and grey hair.

“I _knew_ the beard was a bad idea; Fran, you told me it was fetching!”

“It is!”

Balthier shook his head. “Anyhow young man, look at the date on that file! Do I look like a man in his seventies? That’s my father, Cidolphus Bunansa, and despite the fact that he is my father I bear no responsibility for his scheming!” The young officer looked at the file, his mouth pursed into a thin line.

“Well, you still scammed that shopkeeper-”

“ _Allegedly_ , I remind you. You have yet to provide proof. I was also told we would get a lawyer, so if you could lead them here on the double, chop chop!”

“No need!” said a woman in the doorway. She rounded on their captor. “I told you not to listen to anything Dino Ghiranze has to say! He’s just a creep and a liar trying to get a better deal.”

“See, this is a good style for a lawyer," said Balthier. "Straight to the point. Fuck the other guy." Still, she didn’t look like a lawyer; she looked like he hung around the gym at the Hunt Club. And she was letting Prushka ride on her shoulder.

"Marshal-"

"What proof did you get, huh? Other than his word?"

"I mean, he is a professional-"

"A professional scumbag! Ghiranze just wanted the shop owner to let him take the goods cheap so he could melt them down for his own work."

"This true?" Balthier whispered to Prushka. Prushka nodded.

"You should have seen the earful she gave this Dino guy, kupo! He was terrified."

"Well," Balthier smiled, "it's good to see you're making friends in high places, hm?"

"Iris is a crownsguard Marshal, kupo! The youngest ever! She knows everything in this city, even the best lookout spots. And we bought this!" She held an irregularly shaped device to her eyes. "Say cheese!" The device flashed, leaving it’s after image on their eyes. "Look, then it prints the picture, kupo." Prushka showed them the slowly developing photo, the likeness of man smiling rakishly and viera caught in surprise. Behind Prushka, the Marshal continued to grill her subordinate.

“Oh!” said Fran. “This is one of those - you told me about these Balthier, they make the photographs like the ones we found in your father’s study.”

Prushka turned and took another photo of the Marshal, waving the aged folio detailing the crimes of Cidolfus Bunansa.

“Indeed,” Balthier replied. They had returned to Arcades, after the dust settled over a newly liberated Rabanastre, to the modest townhome Balthier had shared with his father in his teens. There, amongst the dusty instruments, the hastily scribbled notes and well crafted dissertations and well worn chairs, Fran had found a photo album. It was mostly research; a large crystal, a spiralling meteor, interiors of a power plant. But tucked in among them were pictures of a woman, and others of a young boy with a toddler. On the last page a ten year old Balthier knelt in front of a young boy with sandy blonde hair and glasses almost too big for his face, looking on as he plays with a brass compass in childlike wonder, the same photo Balthier has tucked into his pocket.

“Alright, enough of this,” said the Marshal, taking the cell keys from her officer and swatting him lightly on the shoulder. “Go finish the paperwork for your little SNAFU.” The officer huffed, knowing he messed up but glad that he was no longer in trouble for the time being. 

“Well,” said Balthier, as she opened the cell door. “That was by far the best legal representation I’ve ever received. To whom do we owe the pleasure?” He held out his hand.

“Iris Amicitia.” She took his hand and shook it with surprising strength.

“Balthier. My friends call me Balthier. And this is Fran.”

“Do your friends call you Fran?”

“How did you guess?” Fran smiled. She liked this younger woman, Balthier could tell.  
“I’m sorry about the confusion,” Iris continued. “He’s still green. The fellow you sold the jewels to complained because Ghiranze told them they were fake in hopes he’d get a better deal.” Balthier scratched his beard and looked to Fran.

“As far as plans go, it’s not the worst I’ve heard. He’d be better with a partner, make it a proper con. Lucky for us, Prushka knows how to pick them. Sorry we missed the rendezvous by the way. Did you find a place that looked delectable enough for dinner?”

“No problem!” Prushka chirped, “Iris has been looking after me kupo! She even invited me to her brother’s for dinner. Hmm, if you guys are going to eat out she said to try seafood paella kupo, local speciality!” she nodded sagely.

“You are from here in Insomnia, then?” asked Fran, turning to Iris. Iris nodded.

“Born and raised! Well, kinda. Spent a lot of time in Lestallum, but Insomnia’s always been home.”

“And you work here, at the Citadel?”

“Fran-” said Balthier, but she ignored him, listening instead to Iris’ reply.

“Mhm. Well, the crownsguard is based here, so I get stuck here doing paperwork a lot.”

“Fran-”

“Balthier and I were looking for someone who worked here, maybe still does-”

“Fran!”

“He is Balthier’s brother, actually. Perhaps he still goes by the name Ignis Bunansa?”

“Godsdammit Fran.”

“Huh,” Iris replied, scratching her cheek in thought. “Another Ignis? The only Ignis I’ve ever known is my brother in law. He does work here, but his last name is Scientia.” Fran looked to Balthier, who had deflated somewhat knowing his stubbornness was defeated.

“I think … the name does indeed bear familiarity. Did he spend a lot of time here as a child, mayhaps with the prince?” Balthier reached into his breast pocket, pulling out the photograph.

“Yeah,” Iris replied softly. “I was too young to be around much back then, but I know what they’ve talked about…” she trailed off as Balthier showed her the photo. “Damn,” Iris murmured. “That really is him.”


	2. A Night at the Table

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Broken into two parts for an EZ Reading Experience

“What did Iris tell you about her guest?” asked Ignis. He was elbow deep in sudsy dish water, clearing up some of the mess while Gladio set the table for dinner. Gladio hesitated. He hadn’t really mentioned the details yet. 

“Weeeelllll,” he replied. “Remember I told you about the viera?”

“It’s her?”

“No. But those two apparently came over with a moogle on board.”

“A moogle.”

“Yeah. Anyway Iris naturally managed to, apparently, save her from kidnappers and make friends. And invited her to dinner.” He glanced over to the kitchen, where Ignis had stopped scrubbing and was staring at him with an accuracy that belied his blindness. 

“A moogle,” he repeated, no small amount of disbelief in his voice.

“Look man, it looked real in the photo she sent me! There is a viera in Insomnia for the first time in two hundred years, who am I to say it's unbelievable?” Ignis just shook his head, turning back to his dishes.

“A moogle,” he chuckled. “How could this day get any stranger?” A knock sounded at the door of their apartment.

“Just come in!” Gladio bellowed. Iris let herself in whenever the hell she pleased anyway, why was she knocking? Gladio heard the door open and looked up as he placed the last of the forks. It was indeed Iris, the moogle on her shoulder and -

“Uh,” said Gladio, his eyes locked on the man and woman standing behind his sister. For a brief, terrifying moment he thought the strangers from the cafe had followed him home, more intent on roping him into some strange game than he was never willing to be a part of. Thankfully this fear was assuaged somewhat by the looks of surprise on their faces when they realized they had been brought into his home.

“Well well,” said Fran, “should we call this a coincidence, or no? It seems we were closer to our goal than we realized.” Balthier, to be fair, looked slightly terrified.

“Hello?” called Ignis from the kitchen. “Gladio, who is that?” Balthier’s head whipped around and his shoulders went rigid, culminating in a sort of deer in the headlights look.

“Iris brought a couple more friends,” answered Gladio, looking at his sister and mouthing _Why are they here?_ while Ignis sighed.

“Well I didn’t make enough paella for five people so maybe we should thaw some soup as a starter.” Ignis came around the corner, wiping his hands on a dish towel. Balthier inhaled sharply at the sight of him, eyes fixed in shock at the scars on Igni’s face. Fran’s fingers went to her lips, surprised, while Iris gestured at her brother for silence.

“Ignis,” said Balthier. Ignis stopped, tilting his head in that unconscious way when he was trying to hear better. “It’s, um, it’s-”

“Father?” said Ignis slowly, hesitantly.

“No,” Balthier sighed. “It’s just me.” Ignis’s eyes went wide, his hand coming up, looking for solidity, for validation. 

“Ffamran?” Something about that word broke the tension, an inkling that it had not been so long that Ignis had forgotten, that he would still remember after all these years and Balthier’s face broke into a huge smile.

“Dammit,” he chuckled. “I forgot no one calls me that any more.” He reached out, carefully touching Ignis’ outstretched hand. When Ignis didn’t pull away he brought it to his face. Ignis let out a breath of disbelief once, twice. He threw the tea towel over his shoulder, feeling along his brother’s face with both hands, his aristocratic nose, the lines around his eyes, the coarse hair of his close cropped beard. Gladio started, slack jawed while Iris clung to her brother's arm, digging her fingers into his bicep in excitement.

“It’s been a while,” said Ignis. “You look just like him.”

“Pish posh,” Balthier replied. “It’s just the beard.” Ignis was smiling, and Balthier was trying hard, evidently happy to see his brother again but his lips were trembling, the smile fighting the tears in his eyes as they breached their hold, rolling down his cheeks and into Ignis' fingers. For a moment it was if he might be crying with joy, but the look on his face was strained, his lips searching for the right words to slip past the lump in his throat.

"Ffamran?" Asked Ignis softly. "What's the matter? It's all right. You're here, you made it! After all these years."

"We did," Balthier agreed, his smile finally breaching his lips. "I'm very glad to see you again." Ignis surprised Balthier with a hug, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. He was stronger than Balthier expected, stringy muscle corded under Ignis' skin and bone frame. _I’m such a coward, thought Balthier. Tell him, you have to tell him, it’s the reason you came here. Look at you, crashing this nice family dinner, hiding all your secrets._

"I'm sorry," Balthier choked out. Both Amicitia siblings tensed, suddenly aware that this may not be the fairytale Iris had been envisioning. Fran held up a hand in an effort to placate them. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

"Sorry for what?" Asked Ignis, more concerned now, pulling away so Balthier at least could look him in the eye. 

"He's dead," Balthier sobbed. "Father's dead almost twenty years now." Ignis faltered, unsure what to do with this unexpected news. Gladio disentangled himself from his sister, sliding over to put his hand around his husband’s shoulder.

"Oh," he said finally. “May I ask what-”

“I killed him.”

Gladio acted, pushing Ignis away from his brother and placing himself between them, pulling out all the intimidating stops his six-six, two-hundred fifty pound frame had to offer.

Fran slapped a palm to her forehead while Balthier stood looking watery eyed and defeated. He hadn’t backed off from Gladio; he just stood there as if waiting for the blow to land. For Gladio to mete out his punishment.

"Two decades and you couldn't have more tact?" asked Fran, kneading the point between her brows.

"It's not what it looks like, kupo," said Prushka, softly. All eyes except Balthier's turned to her. "Fran told me the story. Doctor Bunansa .. what he was doing would have killed a lot of people, kupo, and there wasn't a lot of people who could help stop him. It's not like they did a bad thing … even if they didn't really do a good thing, kupo."

"Patricide is always a terrible thing," said Balthier, his voice just above a whisper. "Who could ever be forgiven for a thing such as that? Come on Fran, we should never have come here." Balthier turned, ready to leave, ready to go home and pretend this whole venture never happened, but Ignis, quick thinking Ignis, pushed past Gladio to stop him.

"Ffamran," he said. "Why don't you two sit down for dinner and tell me what happened?"

~0~

“I don’t like this,” said Gladio quietly, leaning on the counter while Ignis sifted through the mussels and added them to the sauce in the big cast iron frying pan. Iris kept an eye on Fran and Ffamran, called Balthier, waited at the dining room table while Gladio had a word with Ignis under the pretense of gathering the table settings. He wished Fran would give them some privacy; she was protective of her friend, and Gladio didn’t know if she could be dangerous. Then again, he supposed, she probably felt the same way about him.

"We could be harbouring a wanted criminal," he went on. "They could be playing us for fools!"

"I think Ffamran is more feeling guilty than … actually guilty," Ignis replied ineloquently. 

“What about what you said earlier?”

“I said I wasn’t going to go out of my way,” said Ignis. “I said I wasn’t going to go looking and then ... and then the universe goes and drops him right in my lap.” Ignis sighed, resting his fishy hands on the edge of the sink. "I want to hear him out. Even if he doesn't deserve it in the end, Gladio I haven't seen him in thirty years. I know I don't owe my family anything. He may be a scoundrel or he may be seeking redemption, but, call it selfish curiosity I suppose, at least I can talk with him and learn for myself. At least I have been given the chance." Gladio relented with a sigh, a good indication that he wasn't necessarily happy with this conclusion, but that Ignis was right and Gladio couldn't say no to him. Besides, he knew Ignis, and he knew Ignis would be feeling terrible now that he knew people had been making efforts to see him when he had been trying to put everything in the past. Ignis washed his hands and pulled a jug of water from the fridge, handing it to Gladio to pour for their guests while the mussels cooked. Gladio still didn't like the way they were doing this. If Balthier were so sorry he should be begging Ignis for forgiveness, not sitting at the table with his hands clenched looking like a kicked dog. They didn't have enough chairs for everyone, so Gladio and Ignis (who wouldn't deny a guest, no matter what) were left to eat dinner seated on fraying camp chairs, while Prushka was propped up to table height by a stack of old hardcovers. Ignis brought the food out in short order - the mussels went in last, and cooked quickly.

"This dish smells wonderfully appetizing," Fran complemented. "What do you call it?"

"Paella," Ignis replied. "It's not always made this way, so specifically seafood paella."  
Seafood paella. The words wormed into Balthier’s brain, crawling down to the top of his spine and curling up at the base of his brain. It nagged him, a familiar thought without a place, like being returned a borrowed item after so long you forgot you ever owned it, and now you couldn’t remember where it went. Gladio took their coats, hanging them in the hall closet while Fran apologized for their earlier encounter and Iris chatted excitedly with her brother in law. Gladio followed Ignis’ lead, being warm and welcoming enough, but without letting go of being wary.

"So," said Ignis, seating himself at the head of the table while Gladio served the paella. It was a power move Gladio had seen him pull before at council. Put yourself in a place that made you look in charge, and people would act like you’re in charge. "Prushka gave us the short version," Ignis continued. "Why don't you give us the long one?"

Balthier and Fran looked to one another, their brief conversation all looks and eyebrows, silently deciding where to begin their story. Balthier relented, sighed. Fran had not known him at the beginning of this tale, and so it was up to him to begin it.

“So, for a while after we got back to Arcadia things were ... pretty normal. Father got his job back with the Imperial Sciences, worked his way up the ranks, I went back to secondary school. Boring stuff on the outside. But we were both … antsy. Unhappy. Looking for a way out. One day father announced he’d been chosen to lead an expedition team to the Jagd Difohr, an uninhabited region south of the Empire. Arcadia at the time was always expanding, and always running into the ambitions of a nearby kingdom named Rozarria. It was incredibly dangerous, but the Empire would throw money at anything they thought could give them an advantage over their neighbours. And he found it, of all things, in the form of the ruins of a city named Giruvegan. And there, he met a being named Venat.”

~0~

And so they listened, and ate, as Fran and Balthier told their tale, ricocheting up, across, and down into the depths of Ivalice. He told them about becoming a judge, about his fights with Cid, about meeting Fran in Balfonheim. About a trip they’d made to Rabanastre. The longer they talked, though, the more Baltheri struggled, the more he stopped talking and let Fran take over the telling. He even stopped eating as Fran drew toward the conclusion of their tale.

She underplayed the vastness of The Pharos, he thought, the dizzying heights and the small comfort provided by the cool, damp stone. And the smell, the overwhelming stench of ozone from the waterfall. No one else seemed to mind as much as he did, but it gave Balthier a headache just to think about it.

"And was it there?" Asked Iris. "The sun cryst? What did Ashelia decide to do?"

"She was to destroy it," Fran replied. "But Doctor Bunansa had followed us, and still sought to hinder her chosen path."

"And why … did he do that?" Asked Ignis tentatively.

"I'm a little more worried about what Reddas did about it," said Gladio.

"The sun cryst was a very large stone of nethicite, gathering mist for many hundreds of years,” Balthier explained. “Arcades needed the mist to power a massive sky fortress, a weapon to take Dalmasca and the lands beyond once and for all. He’d already…” Balthier’s hands tensed and untensed, hunting down the right words. “When we were looking into his research, we learned that he had a hand in the destruction of Dalmasca’s neighbour, the city of Nabudis. Testing the power of the nethicite. He wrote about it like it was just another of his experiments.”

“You never mentioned what happened to Nabudis. Only that it was destroyed.”

“I guess there’s not much else to say. It was an example to the world of what the nethicite was capable of.”

“Immensely and immediately destructive, violence on a scale that had no precedent,” said Fran. “It was so sudden that afterwards it was as if the land itself was in shock, twisted into a poisonous swamp inhabited only by demons and the dead.”

“Gods Fran, and I’m the one with no tact?” Balthier slammed his hand on the table. “Dammit! We travelled six thousand kilometers to tell the man that not only is his father dead, but he may or may not have been a mass murderer!”

“Balthier,” said Ignis quietly. “It’s all right.”

“How is it all right?” asked Balthier. “How? We left you, and you’ve probably been wondering your whole life what the hell happened, and the truth is this … steaming pile of chocobo crap.”

“But it’s the truth,” said Ignis. “That’s what matters. The truth is often crap, as you put it. And it’s not your fault, it just fell to you to deal with it. Unless it is your fault."

"I could have been less of a coward!"

"Oh? And what do you want me to do about that? Admonish you? Because I don't think you came all this way just to get scolded."

Balthier deflated, slumping back into his chair. He wished they could be having this conversation in private, away from the cautious stares if the siblings Balthier realized for good or ill were his in laws. They were protective of Ignis, he realized. Ignis had been hurt - badly - and although he had recovered and could look out for himself, they were still determined that it never happen again. 

“I'd rather thought," Ignis went on, "that you wanted me to forgive you.”

“I suppose,” Balthier replied. “I always told myself I was delivering a reasonable apology. He did want to come back, you know. Eventually. He wasn’t going to let that meteorite remain a mystery forever. And this time he would have the might of the Arcadian Empire at his back.”

“Honestly,” said Ignis, “it doesn’t sound like he was interested in being a father for very long.”

“Things weren’t all bad,” said Balthier, “before the ghosts of Giruvegan started whispering in his ear. When I was a child it all seemed rather exciting, like a story book. Just me and dad in the pursuit of science against the world. Everything was a discovery, a scientific breakthrough, another step in the pursuit of a noble goal. Even as a judge it made me feel like I had a purpose, at first. You missed out on all that, and then I took away any chance of him being a proper father to you.” Balthier scoffed. “But I guess that’s selfish thinking, isn’t it. I have no idea what sort of people you’ve had in your life, anyone could have stepped up, or you could think, it's the modern age, who needs fathers anyway, get this man and his rancid apologizing out of my life.” 

The table was left briefly in awkward silence, until Ignis put down his fork and spoke.

"I think before you do that," he Ignis, his voice kind, "you still owe us the end of a tale." Balthier sighed heavily, forcing the air out between his lips.

“The nethicite was his undoing,” said Fran. “Weakened by our conflict, having drawn too much on its power, it consumed Doctor Bunansa.”

“I’m sorry,” said Iris, softly.

“To an extent he still won, in the end,” said Balthier. “Venat promised him that the reigns of history would be placed back into the hands of humankind, and it was. Just not in the hands of Arcades. He perished for naught.” Balthier’s voice cracked and he quickly bit his lip.

“It sounds,” said Ignis, “like his death was the result of his hubris, not your inaction.” Balthier nodded, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. “Balthier,” said Ignis, his hand searching across the table for that of his brother. “Ffamran. Thank you for coming all this way to tell me yourself. I don't think it was your fault, but deep down inside you really do know that."  
Balthier nodded, still a little too choked up to speak. Fran was leaning on her hand, smiling like she was watching a sweet drama unfold onstage. Across the table from her, Prushka blew her petite rabbit's nose loudly on her napkin.

"Now," Ignis instructed. "Eat! Finish your meal, before it gets cold. Mussels aren't cheap these days. Fran, would you be so kind as to regale us with the conclusion of your tale? Then we might just be able to enjoy some dessert."

"Yeah, you said the sun cryst was going to be destroyed," said Iris. "But I also thought you said Arcades wanted the power locked in the Sun Cryst to power some kind of massive sky fortress. Surely they could have won the war with that?"

"They could have," Fran replied. "Had we not stopped them. As I said before, the sun cryst had been rendered unstable. Reddas destroyed it at the cost of his own life, so that we could flee...”

~0~

They finished dinner as Fran concluded her tale, Iris and Prushka practically licking their plates clean before sniffing around for more. Someone suggested coffee and dessert, Gladio replied somewhat sheepishly that they had made a carrot cake.

“Oh,” said Balthier to his companion. “You’ll definitely like that.”

“I will?”

“On my honour. Not too sweet,” Balthier replied. Gladio his smile behind his hand.

“Really? Why’s he making a face then.”

“Nothin’,” said Gladio. “Nothing at all.”

Ignis retreated to the kitchen to set the kettle on, followed by Iris and Prushka with the dishes, and leaving Gladio and Balthier to sit awkwardly across from one another.

“So,” said Balthier quietly, “Ignis didn’t talk about me much, did he.” Gladio shook his head. “I don’t blame him; he was barely old enough to remember when we left, and he was more concerned with his highness at the time.”

“No, but I remember you,” said Gladio, to Balthier’s surprise. He made this evident with his eyebrows.

“Oh?”

“You were in Martial Training. With the older class.” Balthier _tsked_.

“The martial training for all those rich snob kids. They actually put you through that?” Gladio shrugged. 

“Everyone has to start somewhere, right? Only they scout for the crownsguard from there. Least, the Marshall did. He was friends with my dad, I remember him mentioning he had his eye on Ignis' older brother. Cor's not easily impressed, you know."

Fran and Balthier had talked about what might have happened if they'd taken Ignis back to Arcades, but Balthier tried not to give a lot of thought to how different life would have been like if they stayed. Now it sounded like it wouldn't have been much different; instead of a judge for a son, he would have been in the crownsguard.

"Father would have loved that," he scoffed. “Sometimes I thought the only thing I was good for to him was how high up the ladder I could bring him. I can do other things too, you know.”

Iris returned from the kitchen, carrying plates and forks for dessert.

"By the way," she said, "there was one thing I've been meaning to ask. About your story; at the beginning, what were you doing in the palace in the first place?" Of course she would notice, of course she would be the one to ask, being palace security herself and all.

"Well," said Balthier, "you must understand that Rabanastre was under Arcadian control at the time. We were … asked by some loyal Dalmascans to ensure their national treasures did not fall into the hands of their would-be conquerors."

"For a price, I bet," said Iris.

"But of course! One does not simply take on these dangers for free. Anyway, our lucky lad Vaan had the same idea, only he is much more patriotically minded and so we fated upon one another."

To be honest, Balthier hadn’t known what to expect or even hope for when he found Ignis again. A learned man, a soldier, a shopkeeper, an avid inventor? A wife, two kids a dog and a cat? At best he decided his brother was alive and forgiving, at worst, dead. This little family was as likely as any other scenario Balthier could dream up. It was nice, he realized. Gladio couldn’t hide the love in his eyes when he looked at Ignis. He didn't even try. And despite obvious hardships, they were flourishing. Which made Balthier feel all the worse for showing up unexpectedly. And still Ignis had shown kindness and served the kind of home cooked meal that took time and care, the kind of meal Balthier didn't get very often. Maybe it surprised him because, deep down, he'd sort of expected Ignis to be like _him_. 

"Prushka said you have an airship,” said Gladio. “Does this by any chance have anything to do with what you do for a living? What is it you do for a living anyway? You military?"

"Private shipping, high security," said Balthier, his standard reply when he didn’t want someone to know he made a livelihood of relieving the Arcadian elite of their valuables. Oh, he knew these two would find out sooner or later, but one revelation at a time, shall we? "And ex military, actually. Didn't quite take."

"Too many rules?"

"Too much political pressure," Fran interjected smoothly, taking a bite of her cake. "I'm sure you can relate."

Gladio hid the face he made in his coffee cup because he could, indeed, relate.

"By the by,” said Fran steering the conversation away, “we heard the story of your own adventure, and the Time of Darkness. We are sorry to hear about your friend, but we are also very curious. We would be very grateful to also have some answers."

Ignis ran his fingers over the contours of his mug.

"Answers?"

"As to its cause, its ending, and how to avoid it happening again, if possible."

"So it affected you, too," said Ignis. He had suspected, but he had held out hope that that was not the case.

"The whole world, as far as we know," Balthier replied. Ignis nodded, his fears confirmed.

"What was it like?" Asked Ignis. "Over on the far continent?"

"During the Time of Dark?"

"We call it the Long Night." 

Fran shook her head.

"I don't like it. Night has purpose. It lives in harmony with the day. It passes. Beings rest, and others roam. The Long Night sounds crude. Yet there are very few words adequate to describe the troubling times we all endured."

"Night is natural," Ignis agreed. "The Long Night was not."

"It was a nightmare at first," said Balthier.

"Chaos," Fran agreed. "The dead spilled from the necrohols and deep places, bringing with them a mist that twisted the bodies of man and beast alike into those of demons, creatures of the dark."

"The worst part was nobody knew _why_ ," said Balthier. "Most people assumed the gods had finally literally forsaken us."

"And you? What did you assume?"

"I mean, we of all people have the most reason to assume that."

"As I mentioned before, the sun cryst and the nethicite destroyed by Lady Asche represented the dominion of the gods over the fates of mankind. They thought by meting out power they would always be in charge. She rejected them, so why should they not reject us?"

Gladio and Ignis shifted in their seats, uncomfortably aware of how their own lives had been shaped by the machinations of the divine.

"But we are better protected by our magicks," said Fran. "A paling is better against demons then guns and steel."

"We worked by and large for Queen Aschelia, ferrying supplies, doing research."

"Without sun the land grows fallow. Magick can only feed so many. Maybe we could protect a farmer's heard from demons, but what is the use if there is nothing for them on which to feed. It could have been worse. It could have been a lot worse if Dalmasca and Arcades hadn't fought so hard for a peace treaty only a few years before. It helped quell the blame from the Rozarrians, but old rivalries lingered and where resources were scarce skirmishes are common."

"So we turned to the past for answers, went looking for in the tombs of old kings and the ruins of lost cities…”

“Where the mist was thickest, and the creatures the most foul.”

“We'd bring people there, the young, hopeful knights and erudite researchers, and half the time they wouldn't come back and the other half of the time they’d come back empty handed. But what else are you supposed to do, when people are starving, and the underbelly of the city is infected with the dead?”

“Well you must have found something,” said Ignis. Balthier sighed, fiddling with his napkin.

“We did have clues," said Fran. "Mentions of a Prophecy in the land across the sea. But most of the writing was very old, before our ancestors found it difficult to cross the sea."

"But we did have father's research," said Balthier. "A fair time ago a friend gave us a prototype energy cryst, something like nethicite that could fly through jagd airspace, but past the cataract the effect is much worse. It wasn't a big leap to think my father must have had something similar.”

“Do you remember how you got here?” Asked Gladiolus. He was listening to the whole story with rapt attention, even more so than Ignis, almost.

“So so,” Balthier replied. “We skirted the edges, flying only in the summer to avoid the storms near the arctic circle. Even then, it did require the prototype energy cryst that father would later give the Arcadian military, in case you were wondering why not many people try. And coming back was much easier."

"What made returning easier?"

"A diesel powered internal combustion engine."

“Uuh, no shit?” asked Gladio.

“Mounted on a small airship, an auxiliary engine can keep the glossaire rings turning while power from a cryst can be channeled into the skystones, kupo.” All eyes turned to the Strahl’s diminutive engineer. “Of course, efficiency is always lost to the weight of the liquid fuel. It’s better for long journeys, kupo, not aerial acrobatics, because it balances out after time.” The Lucians all stared at her, digesting this strange yet informative information. Finally, Iris spoke.

“Can we get back to the -”

“Hold on,” said Gladio, interrupting her. “That’s what the Niffs used to do.”

“Strap trucks to their airships?” asked Iris incredulously.

“Back up the magitek engines with combustion. Until they got those big batteries working. Iris you’re too young, but Ignis I know you remember the lecture about aiming for the fuel tanks?"

“Indeed,” Ignis replied. 

"So did he get the idea from them? Cause we would have been like … six? Seven? At the time. That's not even long after they started using airships." The brothers at this point glanced at one another, both looking extremely uncomfortable.

"That’s why the file said Doctor Bunansa was wanted for espionage,” Iris realized. “He was talking to Nifleheim."

"He sold tech to Nifleheim," said Balthier. "He spent eight years here trying to get them to let him play with that crystal, and when an alternative came knocking, he took it. If he were Lucian he would have been executed for treason, but he wasn’t, so they kicked us out instead.”  
And that’s probably why Ignis never talked about them much; doubtless any court would let him forget his father was a _traitor_. That, and his perspective of the memory Balthier had of a little blonde six year old, sobbing, stayed by his uncle’s hand, crying _Don’t leave me, too!_

Balthier wondered if the aforementioned Marshal Cor would have let him stay. He was twelve years old at the time. He’d never even thought to ask. Guilt washed up over Balthier's shoulders, the flow of a familiar tide.

"... so that about sums it up," Ignis was saying. "My mother passed, and my father was accused of treason, so they gave custody to my uncle and allowed him to change my surname. A fresh start for me, absolved of my father's sins." Balthier winced inwardly, clutching the dessert fork so hard his knuckles turned white.

 _You were a kid,_ he reminded himself. _There was nothing you could do._  
_Vaan was a_ kid. _Larsa was a_ kid. _The world told them they could do jack shit, but they did it anyway. Because even not a lot was better than nothing._

Gladiolus finished his cake, standing to collect the plates and empty mugs. Fran stood as well.

“I will help you with the washing up,” she declared.

“No no,” Gladio replied. “You’re the guest…” he trailed off as he noticed the commanding look aimed at Iris and Prushka.

“Many hands make light work,” Fran quipped. “Please, Gladiolus. Lead the way.”

And Ignis was left alone, for the first time in thirty years, with his brother.

“So,” said Ignis, uncertain. “What do you do when you’re not saving the world?”

“Originally we went back to Arcades, tried to pick up the dregs of father’s research, find something of value in it. Even if it was burying it so no one could use a weapon like the nethicite again.”

"I would very much like to see father's research," Ignis admitted. "He suspected the crystal might have been made of this … nethicite you spoke of?"

Balthier nodded. "He suspected, but he was wrong. It was the meteor in the end that gave him what he needed."

"And is it …?" 

"I don't know. But there is no mist in Eos for casting magic. Makes you wonder, where did it all go?"

“I’m curious about this mist, too. You said in large quantities it can be harmful. Say a person channeled mist their whole lives-”

“If you don’t watch out, it’ll shorten your lifespan. Just look at father. It can also age you faster than normal. It’s been observed in researchers, people who work around it their whole lives but you have to be exposed to quite a lot of it, more than one soldier would be able to use in their whole career, that’s for sure.”

“Like say, for example, maintaining a magical paling day in and day out for a couple of decades?” Balthier’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

“That Wall?”

“The one and the same.” Balthier whistled.

“That’ll do it. Unpleasant business. Poor fellow.”

“And do you think without the meteor, mist will flow into Lucis?” Again, Balthier shrugged.

“The sea is still jagd; who knows what lurks in the depths. What I do know is that magitechnology is evolving by the day, and soon jagd will mean nothing to our airships, and if it weren’t for the cataract your boats would have crossed the sea already.”

Ignis lapsed into silence; it was a lot to take in.

"I've never tried," he admitted

"Tried what."

"Casting magic. Since Noct … died." Ignis paused. "I'm not sure I really want to."

"Fran said it would take time," said Balthier. "Time for mist to flow back into Eos now that the meteor is gone. Even then there are still enough big pieces to absorb most of it. But she thinks it will happen. A few generations maybe, certainly not in our lifetime."

"Fran knows a lot about these things?"

"I do not question the wisdom of the viera."

"That's why the beard then."

"See, I'm glad you agree." Balthier polished off the last of his coffee. "You're the hero of a new world, Ignis. You aren't just putting old things back together. Things are never going to be the same again."

"What about in Ivalice?"

Balthier shrugged, not used to the idea that he couldn't be seen.

"Who knows? Monsters still lurk in the wilds, but neither Arcades nor Rozarria have resorted to their former warmongering. Peace has been good for trade, and trade has been good for, ah…"

"Private security," Ignis finished for him.

"Exactly!" Balthier grinned. "See? Its exciting after all, isn't it?" He was pushing it, trying to force a smile when the weight was still on his shoulders. They lapsed into silence. Balthier concentrated very hard on the dregs of his coffee. He had gotten this far.

“Were you mad?” he asked quietly. “Were you angry at us?”

“I … don’t want to say I wasn’t,” Ignis replied. “I was six. I was sad. I was inconsolable. Then I was furious. Then… it became the past. I’m not the kind of person to let things linger. I had other things to do. Better places to put my energy.” A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I’m like my mother in that regard, I suppose.”

"I'm sorry," he said.

"You keep saying that," said Ignis.

“Someone needs to apologize to you sometime.”

“Did you want to stay?” asked Gladio. “Is that … why you came back?” Balthier gave a single, dry laugh. He'd been irked as a kid when they were forced to leave after eight formative years enjoying the modern creature comforts of Lucis. In hindsight it was ironic, returning to a land of airships and magic and all Balthier wanted was to be able to play his Gameboy and eat crisps and watch a movie.

“I wanted to … make my father happy,” Balthier replied. “It seems so trivial, in hindsight. I could have done something. Anything. But I took the easy way out, because it's what he would have liked."

“I’ll say it again,” Ignis declared, “and I’ll only say it one last time; you’re here. You’re here now. You took the leap, and that’s what matters. Understood?” Balthier blushed, like a child being taught a lesson.

“I still feel somewhat of a fool, barging in like you wouldn’t immediately cut my head off for all the pain we caused you, and then announcing there was more.”

“Well,” said Ignis. “I must admit I’m not exactly ready to welcome you back into my bosom, if that’s any comfort-” Balthier snickered “-but you’ve proven that you’re worth another chance. I really do hope you choose to stay a while in Insomnia. I’d rather like an excuse to clear my schedule for a bit.”

“What, being the saviour of the land not all you thought it would be?”

“You would know,” Ignis replied.

“Eh,” said Balthier. “As you may have gathered, we were more than happy to let her highness take all the credit. She wanted to make me a knight. A knight!” he scoffed.  
I’d had enough of that, thank you very much.” Ignis snorted, a genuine, involuntary chuckle, and the weight finally slid off Balthier’s shoulders.

Ignis laughed.

And Balthier laughed.

They shared a laugh, the first one in decades. And it was good.

~0~

Fran returned with Gladiolus from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a tea towel patterned with faded cactuars and chili peppers.

"I think," said Fran, "we should depart for the evening. This has been a lot for one day. Gladiolus says he can show us around Insomnia tomorrow, and perhaps secure a permit to park the Strahl within the limits of the city."

"Actually," said Gladio, "I was hoping our guy - well, our girl- could have a look at her. If Prushka could show her a thing or two.”

“I want to see it too,” said Iris. “Cindy’s gonna lose her shit. We should bring Prompto too. Prompto’s gonna lose his shit. I want to see them lose their minds, Gladio." Balthier smirked, in much better spirits now then when they had arrived. He was growing tired, he realized, his body finally losing the tension he'd carried through the day. And he liked it when people praised the _Strahl_.

"As long as no one tries to dismantle my ship," he conceded, pulling himself from his chair. "The old girl's been through a lot, the last thing she needs in yet another overly enthusiastic engineer."

They said their goodbyes at the door, Balthier lingering longer than he had to when Ignis gave him a hug. Fran finally pried them apart with gentle tugs, and with a final goodbye, the door clicked shut.

"Well," said Gladio, "that was … unexpected."

"Indeed," Ignis replied, fiddling with his little skull necklace. How it still hung on after all this time was anyone's guess.

"Are you …?"

"Happy?" Ignis finished. "Pleased? I think so."

"What are you gonna do?" Ignis tapped the skull charm against his lips, thinking.

"I'm going to take the day off work." Gladio's eyebrows shot up. He didn't even need to say anything; Ignis knew he would be surprised. "Maybe the week," Ignis continued. "Talcott and Chloe have things under control. They can be trusted on their own for a week, surely.”

“Hmph!” Gladio laughed.

“What?”

“You changed your mind.”

“Hmph,” Ignis grunted. “As I said before, I would be a fool to waste an opportunity.”

“It’s okay,” said Gladio. “I’ve changed my mind too.”

~0~

“You know, he's not what I expected,” said Fran.

“Oh, and what did you expect, pray tell? Did you think, surely if there is one man in the world who could surpass my debonaire charms, it could only be a man of my blood?”

“I was expecting him to be a little more like Vaan.”

“Vaan?” Balthier spluttered. “You think - you honestly think I felt the need to be a big brother so badly I went and picked up that precocious little brat? He clung to us like a leech he did, wailing on about being a pirate-”

“You taught him to fly and even entrusted him with the Strahl. And remember he's not your apprentice,” she giggled.

“He's a grown man, I should very well hope not!”

“We should bring him and Penelo with us next time,” said Fran. “Can you imagine, their eyes would shine like stars at the sights!” Viera lived long lives, and she still tended to think of their younger friends - and even the Queen of Dalmasca - as children. Vaan tolerated it, Penelo loved it, and Asche was diplomatic, always trying to keep peace and make ties with the many races of Ivalice. Balthier slowed his pace, his features thoughtful.

“You really think we’ll be back?"

"I want to come back kupo!"

“Everything went well, considering, so I certainly hope so. And Ignis is curious, you can tell.”

“That’s just the way he is, he’s always been curious…” Balthier stopped walking suddenly, his back straight, realization on his lips. Then he turned and broke into a jog, heading back to the three storey brownstone apartment where Ignis and Gladio made their home. He pounded on the door of the apartment, as if he didn’t get out the words he wanted to speak right now they would be gone forever. Gladio answered, concern on his face.

"Come with us," he said.

"What, now?"

"No you fool, when we return to Ivalice. Not like, for good. Take a vacation. We can go to the flying city, to the market in Rabanastre. Or come to Arcades, at least. I'll show you the - I'll show you around. The places father always talked about."

"Ha!" Iris laughed, leaning into the foyer from the kitchen. "Do you know how much it took to get these two to go on a honeymoon? A _honeymoon?_ "

"We haven't been on a honeymoon," said Gladio.

" _Exactly_. You think Ignis is just going to up and run off for who knows how long-"

"We'll think about it," said Ignis. Iris stopped, looking at her brother in law in surprise.  
"We will?" said Gladio.

"Well, we'll talk about it?" Ignis suggested. Gladio shrugged, turning back to Balthier. 

"We'll talk about it," he repeated.

"Good," said Balthier, smiling. "That's good enough."


	3. A Quick Epilogue

Ashelia B'nargen Dalmasca, first of her name, massaged her forehead with strong, slender fingers and slumped against the arm of her throne. It had been a long day. Rozzaria was raising import taxes and merchants were getting caught up at the border. The new airships had been delayed again because a sandstorm had hit the manufacturing plant, meaning the engines had to be disassembled and cleaned before test flight. The merchants guild wanted funds to fix the fountain in market square, but to be fixed the fountain needed to be reconnected, and to be reconnected meant sending an extermination team into the waterways, which meant pulling soldiers keeping the peace at the border. She could hire hunters, but they wanted big game with big trophies; they didn’t like jobs that paid by the head. Ashelia sighed. She was almost at the point of taking her guard and going down there herself if it would shut the mouths of the merchant's guild for good. Heavens knew she needed a break from sitting in this chair all day.

 _But it’s all good,_ she told herself. _Remember, peace is good._

One of the palace servants, a quiet but attentive girl, appeared at her queen's elbow with a silver jug of cold water flavoured with slices of lemon. The evening sun twinkled invitingly across the surface as she poured the water into a matching goblet. Ashelia accepted the goblet and drank deep.

"Mm, do you know if we have any wine in the cold storage?" She mused. "I think it's going to be a wine with dinner sort of night."

"I can see to it, your majesty. Will your majesty be dining alone tonight? The chef mentioned there were fresh cockatrice eggs in the larder."

 _Yes, thankfully,_ thought Ashelia. At least there was no one to pester her while she ate. She opened her mouth to send the servant on her way with her response when the door at the end of Ashelia’s admittedly rather cavernous throne room burst open. Ashelia tensed, readying herself for yet another round of bureaucratic yammerin. The royal herald backed into the throne room, waving his hands frantically.

“Please sirs, mademoiselle! I already told you, Her Majesty is taking no more visitors for the day!”

“What?” drawled a familiar voice, “not even old friends?” Balthier strolled into the throne room, wearing his usual rakish grin and a beard that Ashe had never seen before, followed by Fran, her stride serene, and two men dressed in black. Queen Ashelia leaned back in her throne, an amused and somewhat relieved smile settling on her face. 

“Fill the glass, leave the water and fetch more,” she instructed with a wave of her hand, watching as her herald flustered. The servant bowed in acknowledgement.

“It is fine, herald,” she called. She was very practised, after all these years, in using a voice that would be carried by the tall stone walls of her throne room. “Leave us be. Your duties are done for the day.”

“My lady?”

“These rogues need no introduction. Now, as I said, go.”

“My lady.” The herald bowed on his way out.

“Fool of a pirate,” said the queen, her voice teasing. She settled into a more comfortable position once her servants were out of sight. “What are you doing here? What’s with all the hair on your face?”

“Fran said it was fetching!”

“It is!” Bathier rolled his eyes.

“I tell you what, your majesty. Viera may have taste but it is taste that belongs to the woods and the woods alone. Nevertheless,” Balthier reached into a satchel at his waist and produced a curious looking book, a black, letter sized folio like the kind used in Arcadian record keeping. “I present to my lady two gifts. One is the final fruit of years of research, a compendium of scientific research and personal accounts as to the causes and nature of the Time of Dark, and the so called Starscourge, known to her Majesty as the Necrotic Mist, compiled by yours truly.” Ashelia leaned forward as Balthier spoke, barely able to believe what she was hearing. But if anyone was fool enough to try, if anyone was crazy enough to make it, it would have been them. She all but leaped from her throne as he finished speaking, bolting forward and snatching the folio from Balthier’s hands. She opened it at random, scanning the odd, regular type of the script and Balthier’s flourishing annotations. 

“You did it,” she breathed.

“A promise is a promise, majesty.” Ashelia touched the bright white pages, longing to start reading, to learn the answers her people had so desperately sought all those long years. But her eyes were drawn behind the pirates, to the oddly dressed men in black waiting patiently. It was the black that got her at first; nobody in Dalmasca wore black in the desert heat if they could help it. Not unless they were in mourning. She’d taken them for Rozzarian at first, the taller fellow at the very least, but it struck her as she got a closer look that the cut of their garments was strange, well fitted and many buttoned like an Arcadian noble but without the embellishment. One of them carried a silver tipped cane.

“And who are these men you have brought with you, pirate? You mentioned a second gift?”

“An introduction, my lady. These fine specimens are Gladiolus Amicitia, a leader in the crownsguard of Lucis,” Amicitia bowed formally, with a palm over his heart, “and his husband and my brother, Ignis Scientia.”

“Your majesty,” said Scientia, likewise bowing.

“They come to you as envoys, eager to make better acquaintances with their cousins overseas."

Ashelia gasped.

“Lucis! You, Balthier, Fran, you, you," she stumbled in her haste, "you managed to make it to Lucis?” she looked again at the folio in her hands, the pieces finally falling into place. "You figured it out! After all these years!"

Balthier grinned. "Not without a little help, I assure you."

"Ancestors, where are my manners," Aschelia gasped. She tucked the folio under one arm and offered up one manicured hand to their guests.

"Welcome to Dalmasca, far travellers."

"Kiss or shake?" Asked Gladiolus.

"A handshake will do," Ashelia laughed. "Though it is not usually the way of royalty, Balthier is an old friend." Both men had strong, warm hands, and weren't afraid to shake her hand like they meant it. The more Asche looked, the more differences she noticed, from the cut of their clothing to the way they styled their hair, the unfamiliar materials of their shoes and the dark lenses Scientia wore in front of his eyes.

"Envoys," she repeated. "Well, welcome to Rabanastre, envoys of Lucis. Have you been in the city long?"

"Balthier gave us the tenpenny tour. It's … much more comforting than Bujerba." Even deep within the heart of the flying city, with so much of it in disrepair Ignis has been unable to shake the feeling that he could slip and fall into the abyss at any moment. Every time they stepped outside Gladio clung to his arm like he'd lose him forever if he let go. Bujerba had survived the Long Night by being proactive; Balthier had flown them under the city and showed them where the bridges of the mine had been blasted apart during the long night to prevent demons escaping the tunnels.

"There may still be something in there, lurking in the shadows," said Balthier. "No one's found the right level of stupidity to go find out." 

They had also visited Arcades, which had fared a lot better, though the lowtown was still dotted with memorials and abandoned homes. Arcadia favoured the new, and if the old was of no more use it was torn down and replaced with something newer, brighter, more advanced. There was no dwelling on the past there. 

Aschelia laughed at the jest.

“You don’t share the adventurous, daring spirit of your brother then?”

“Well, I made it this far, didn’t I?”

"You did," the queen acknowledged. "Well, far travellers from Lucis, the hour grows late, and I've been informed we have cockatrice eggs in the larder. Why don't you join me for dinner? We have much, it seems, to discuss."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I know this isn't my best work, but con-crit always welcome, especially if you find one of my many spelling or grammatical errors.
> 
> Big thanks to Shepbleps from the discord for giving her a once over all those months ago. I finally finished!


End file.
